Step by Step
by immertreu
Summary: Alfred Pennyworth and Bruce Wayne try to figure out how to go on after Bruce's parents were murdered. - Companion story to "Solace"
1. Chapter 1

**Step by step**

By immertreu

September 10, 2011

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Alfred Pennyworth stood just outside his young charge's bedroom door. Nine-year-old Master Bruce was late this morning. Again.

"Master Bruce, your car is waiting!" he called but got no reply in return. "Master Bruce?"

Cautiously, he knocked and opened the door. Life hadn't been easy at Wayne Manor since the Master and Mistress's murders three months ago, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare the grieving child even more.

The sight that greeted Alfred when he entered the room definitely wasn't the one he'd hoped for, but it wasn't totally unexpected either. A few months before, Master Bruce would have been on his hands and knees, searching for an elusive sock or shoe, trying to get ready for school on time. These days, he was either locked up in the bathroom adjoining his suite or hiding under the covers of the huge four-poster bed – like right now.

Alfred carefully closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, watching the unmoving bulk under the beautiful quilt Mrs. Wayne had bought for her son's birthday last year.

"Master Bruce?" he tried again.

"No!" came the muffled reply.

"No? What do you mean by no? You have to go to school. Now." Maybe his best imitation of a schoolmaster's voice would work – probably not.

"No!"

The angry shout from under the covers proved Alfred's suspicions right.

He stood next to the bed for a whole minute, worrying his lower lip, at a loss what exactly had brought on this latest outburst of childish obstinance and helplessness – and how to counter it.

Master Bruce's parents had always wanted their only son to grow up like a normal child – going to school, meeting friends, having a life outside the walled boundaries of the Wayne Estate. Alfred had tried to honor their wish and had not taken his charge out of the private school after their deaths, hoping that the familiar surroundings and faces would help the boy recover from his terrible loss. But the plan hadn't worked.

More often than not, Master Bruce would simply refuse to go. On the few occasions he went, one of his teachers would call an hour later, requesting that the boy be picked up because he was claiming to feel ill – from a sickness which miraculously vanished the moment he returned to his room at Wayne Manor – or because the child who, until recently, had been known for his mild-mannered and polite behavior had been disturbing the class or gotten into a fight again.

Alfred was getting tired of this game. His intentions may have been good, but obviously keeping Bruce enrolled at school was no use. His grades had dropped so low that Alfred was surprised the teachers even bothered to give him any. And his constant fighting with the other children wasn't helping either. Problem was, he was really good at it. Master Bruce had always excelled at sports.

The boy's friends no longer called. The few times Alfred had met one of his classmates while picking up his charge, the boy looked at Bruce with something close to fear in his eyes and turned away.

Master Bruce was hurting, that much everyone knew, but no one really understood. How could they? Seeing your parents shot to death in front of you was something no one could ever imagine.

Sighing, Alfred sat down on the corner of the bed. A conversation he'd been staving off for as long as possible would finally have to take place.

"Master Bruce, we need to talk."

The bedspread didn't move, but Alfred hadn't really expected a response. Maybe his next words would get a reaction.

"Look, Sir, I know you do not want to go to school, but you have to. If I don't send you to get an education, Child Protective Services might reconsider their decision and try to take you away from me. Do you understand?"

Nothing happened at first, but then a tousled head appeared from under the covers. Bruce's eyes were dry but huge in his pale little face. He hadn't cried since the night a few days after the funeral when he'd torn apart his room, but Alfred knew he'd have to let out the grief at some point, not just the fury.

Now the boy stared at his guardian with resentment in his eyes. "You can't scare me. They wouldn't dare take me away! M-m-mom and d-dad promised!"

The hissed reply was filled with venom – and with fear the child couldn't keep quite out of his shaking voice.

Alfred didn't acknowledge the challenge but replied in his most reassuring tone. "I am not trying to scare you. You know that. But I have to speak the truth. Your parents were wise to leave precise instructions regarding our future, and I am honored that they chose me to be your guardian in the event…"

His voice faltered, and he began anew. "The court gave us one year to prove that we can manage. That we can live together – alone – at Wayne Manor and that I can care for you as if you were my own son. But frankly, I'm not so sure anymore."

The focused gaze coming from the bed almost made Alfred shudder, but he continued nonetheless because he had to try to talk some sense into the boy who didn't understand the implications of his own actions – yet.

"Master Bruce, there are certain rules everyone living in this country has to follow. I didn't make them, but I have to abide by them. Child Protective Services allowed us to continue our life here under the condition that you are well-cared for. I know it has been only three months, but the court is starting to take notice that not everything is as well as it should be."

Alfred could see the anger rising in Bruce's face, but he held up a hand and stopped the outburst before it happened.

"I know you miss your parents terribly. So do I." He looked at the boy who wouldn't meet his eye this time. Bruce didn't want to talk about his parents or his feelings anymore.

"I don't want you to pretend everything is normal. I know it is not. But you have to help me, too. Child Protective Services has been calling again. Did you know they took a look at your school reords? They even talked to the headmaster who wasn't very pleased."

Staring into space, Bruce pretended not to hear. Alfred could see the strain in his shoulders and his fists bunched in the sheets.

"Mrs. Simmons, our caseworker, called me last night. She said that if we 'couldn't pull ourselves together' soon, she'd have to send someone to re-evaluate our case. And you know what that means, don't you, Master Bruce?"

He didn't have to continue because his young charge knew all too well what it meant. A few weeks after the Waynes' deaths, Mrs. Simmons had bustled her way into their life and demanded to be kept informed of every significant factor related to Master Bruce's well-being.

Alfred knew she meant well, but she'd threatened to call in a child psychologist – not the one Officer Gordon had recommended – which hadn't gone down well with young Master Bruce. He hadn't said a single word to her since. Every time she came for a "visit," he just stared at her with an expression in his eyes only his guardian could read. It was simple despair, but she confused it with anger. He didn't reply to any of her questions regarding his life with Alfred or his days at school anymore.

It was no wonder the social worker was thinking about placing the boy in foster care and having a doctor take a look at him – but it wouldn't happen. Not while Alfred was still around.

The family butler's becoming the guardian of the heir of one of the wealthiest families in Gotham had caused quite a few raised eyebrows among the well-situated citizens of the city, but what no one knew – except for the judge and the people at CPS who worked their case – was that Alfred had not only been given his task in Mr. and Mrs. Wayne's will. They had also asked him to become Bruce Wayne's godfather many, many years ago.

Alfred had made a promise then to the two people who held a place in his heart as his own son and daughter might. He wouldn't break his vow. Not ever. It was what gave Alfred some advantage over the court, and he intended to use it to full capacity to make sure that Bruce would stay by his side until he was old enough to decide for himself.

Returning to the here and now, Alfred caught Bruce watching him.

"What is it, Master Bruce?" he asked. He had gotten used to the boy's quiet presence and learned to understand most of his unspoken pleas over the past few months; but it was still unnerving, to say the least, considering how chatty and happy he had been before tragedy struck his family.

These days, Bruce hardly ever talked. He said yes or no when asked a question, but he never asked for anything of his own accord. Usually, Alfred had to guess or interpret a gaze or a tiny movement of the head, so by now he had a pretty good idea what his young master wanted; but he still tried to get the boy to talk once in a while. This time it seemed to work. Master Bruce finally loosened his deathgrip on the quilt and started to speak.

"I don't want to go to school anymore."

Alfred resisted the urge to run a frustrated hand through his graying hair and settled for patience instead. "That much I gathered, Master Bruce, but why? You've always loved to learn, to discover new things. You have friends at school."

The boy's next reply caught his mentor off-guard.

"No, I don't. They all think I'm a freak. They stare at me. They think I should be locked up in a hospital somewhere. They say I'm nuts and don't belong there. I don't want to go back. Ever!" And with that he jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom before Alfred could make a move to stop him.

The door slammed shut, and the tell-tale screech of the huge key turning in the ancient lock reverberated through the room.

"Oh, dear!" Alfred got up from the bed with a resigned sigh. The battle was lost. He couldn't even blame the boy because his outburst had only confirmed Alfred's greatest fear.

Children could be cruel, even more so when they had to deal with matters they didn't fully understand. And who knew what the parents of those children had told them or said to each other when they thought no one was listening? Even the smallest ears could pick up on rumors and resentment portrayed by others.

Angry with himself because he hadn't thought about removing the key until now, Alfred stood in front of the bathroom door and said, "Very well then. I shall call the school and tell them that you are sick."

The door stayed closed, and no sound escaped the bathroom; but Alfred knew Bruce had heard the offer.

Sending a silent prayer for forgiveness to the heavens – and Bruce's parents – for what he was about to suggest, Alfred continued. "In return I want you to think about something, Master Bruce. I think I could make it possible for you not to go back to school anytime soon. That is, if you promise me to study at home with a tutor until you are ready to go back. How does that sound?"

The door stayed shut for a very long time, and Alfred was beginning to think it would stay that way for the rest of the day when the key turned in the lock.

Master Bruce had combed his hair and looked much calmer than before. His voice was a little unsteady though when he asked, with hope in his eyes, "You won't make me go?"

The simple question that contained so much fear and pain made Alfred's heart ache for the small boy who didn't deserve any of this. In lieu of an answer, he took a small step forward and simply pulled the startled child into a hug. Bruce stiffened, but after a moment he put his small arms around his guardian's middle and hid his face from view.

Alfred ruffled the boy's hair in affection, thoroughly ruining Master Bruce's attempt at looking more grown-up and returning his shock of hair to its previous state of an unruly mop. The notion made Alfred smile inwardly. When he'd found his voice again, he simply replied, "I won't force you to do anything – ever. Do you understand?"

Feeling more than seeing the nod of the tiny head against his midriff, he said, "We'll find another way. And now, how about you come downstairs to the kitchen with me? I have to call the school…" Ignoring the tightening of the hands clinging to him, he continued, "…and then we'll have some breakfast and talk about finding a tutor for you, all right?"

Alfred hoped Master Bruce's parents would understand.

**TBC**

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><p><strong>AN: This story is a companion story to "Solace" and will follow Bruce and Alfred for the next decade or so. I'll update as soon as possible. ;)  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Master Bruce never went back to his former school. Alfred immediately started calling every public school, private school and institute he could think of – and then every other contact he thought might know someone who would be qualified not only to homeschool a brilliant but grieving and very angry child.

Alfred wasn't about to put Master Bruce through the hell of trying out one tutor after another. Only one would enter the manor – the right one. And Master Bruce had been very clear about one thing: He didn't want a female teacher. Obviously, Mrs. Simmons's well-meant but badly executed intrusion into their lives had added yet another scar to Master Bruce's growing collection, so Alfred would humor him – for now. It didn't make his task any easier though.

In the kitchen, Alfred prepared a meal designed to entice Master Bruce to eat something more nutrious than chocolate and cake. That's when the long-awaited phone call finally came.

In his mid-thirties, William Brooke was not simply a teacher, but a counselor experienced in dealing with troubled and traumatized children. He was often called in by schools when they couldn't handle more serious cases. Most important of all, he seemed to be a genuine person, likeable, honest, and invested, someone who didn't work the special cases because he wanted the recognition or remuneration but because he simply cared. At least according to Mrs. Dawes. She had met the teacher in question at Rachel's school last week and thought he might be the perfect tutor for Master Bruce. Alfred had left a message with the school's secretary immediately.

Alfred picked up the old-fashioned receiver of the fire engine red telephone Mrs. Wayne had found in the cellar a few years back and loved so much that she decided it had to be put to good use again. "Wayne Manor."

Alfred caught himself smiling when he heard the younger man's over-enthusiastic greeting at the other end.

"Uhm, hello? My name is William Brooke. I heard you were looking for a tutor for your son?"

Alfred didn't comment on Mr. Brooke's choice of words but thanked him for calling, instead asking the teacher a few questions about his previous engagements.

His answers showed how much the young man loved to teach and take care of his pupils, so Alfred asked him to meet him in town the next day to get to know each other – and talk about some of the details regarding Alfred's current dilemma. Mr. Brooke agreed immediately, and Alfred hung up with a small smile on his face. "And a good day to you, sir."

The additional day would give Alfred time to check Mr. Brooke's, but he had a feeling too much caution would be unnecessary. He hoped that his search was finally over. Sometimes you just had to trust your instincts.

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><p>Mr. Brooke's references checked out, and Alfred had gotten to know the possibly newest addition to the Wayne household as a gentle but firm man who paid great attention to the person he was talking to without being intrusive or chumming up – an admirable trait in someone who was dealing with the scion of one of the wealthiest families in Gotham. His handshake had been firm when he greeted the butler in the small coffeeshop Alfred had chosen for their first meeting. His face was honest although creased with slight lines of worry and pain. His life hadn't been an easy one.<p>

Because his assignments as school counselor were mostly short-term and had required him to drag his family across the country frequently, Mr. Booke was eager to take the job. Alfred promised to make a few calls to help them find suitable housing, but first Master Bruce and his future tutor must meet – and get along.

Of course, Master Bruce chose the day Alfred had invited Mr. Brooke to the manor to stage a rebellion against his guardian's plans regarding his future. Bruce had agreed to studying at home with a tutor, but that didn't mean he was actually fond of the idea – it was merely the lesser of two evils in his eyes – but Alfred hadn't expected the open hostility that greeted him at the breakfast table.

Master Bruce didn't say anything – he didn't have to – but munched on his toast with a resentful air. It would be too much to say that Bruce had enjoyed his spontaneous "holiday," but it was obvious he didn't want his learning-free time to end. Or maybe it was just his recently awakened suspicion of every stranger that made him resent his tutor without ever having met the man.

Alfred's heart clenched to think how much his young charge had changed since that fateful day. Formerly an open and friendly child who had looked into the future with hope and joy, he now spent his days brooding in his room or high up in the old oak behind the terrace, where he thought Alfred wouldn't know how to find him. He rarely spoke anymore, and there was a suspicious depth and knowing in his eyes Alfred couldn't describe even to himself. There was anger there, too, and much pain, but the boy still refused to talk about his feelings.

Alfred worried about his charge night and day, but he still wasn't ready to admit defeat and call in professional help. Maybe Mr. Brooke's experience and friendly nature would be enough to allow the boy to adjust to the changes in his life and get comfortable in his own skin again. Alfred simply refused to believe that the child would never laugh or play again.

The sound of the bell announcing a visitor at the gate shook Alfred from his musings. Master Bruce was up and out the door before Alfred could even think about saying anything. He decided to leave the boy alone for now, dropped his napkin on his empty plate and went to open the gate.

When the two men entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Alfred quietly explained the layout of their surroundings and indicated the rooms and corridors leading from where they stood. Master Bruce was nowhere in sight.

Alfred had decided that if Mr. Brooke really wanted to help them and teach his troubled charge, then he needed to see – almost – every side to their current situation. That included half-eaten breakfasts and the cozy kitchen where Bruce and Rachel used to spend many hours playing. They had often watched Alfred or Mr. Dawes prepare their meals here, grabbing a snack of this or that when they thought nobody was looking.

Mr. Brooke glanced at the breakftast table which had obviously been left in a hurry by its occupants but merely raised an eyebrow in Alfred's direction and sat down in the empty chair Alfred indicated. He accepted a cup of coffee and settled back comfortably when Alfred returned to his usual place at the table to Mr. Brooke's left. Master Bruce's toast with only a few bites missing seemed to stare up at him accusingly.

When he looked up, Alfred saw Mr. Brooke watching him. "I guess he didn't take it well?" the teacher asked dryly. Alfred had to smile in spite of himself, then shook his head.

"No, he didn't. I had expected him not to like that you were coming today – after all, he is just a boy, and I am sure he would like to extend his vacation a little longer – but I didn't think he would run off like that. I thought his curiosity would make him stick around to take a look at you, at least."

The moment the words left his mouth, he heard a quiet swishing noise in the corridor, and catching Mr. Brooke's eye, he saw that the other man had heard it, too. Obviously, Alfred hadn't been too wrong about his charge after all.

Ignoring Master Bruce's bout of eavesdropping for now, he only nodded at the teacher and offered him the jug in front of him. "Milk?"

Ten minutes later they were still making small-talk and Mr. Brooke was in the middle of telling Alfred a story about how his youngest daughter had managed to get stuck high up in a mountain ash once, when Alfred decided it was time to end the charade. The moment he tried to rise, however, Mr. Brooke gestured for him to stay seated and finished his story.

"She never climbed a tree again after that – but she still loves to scramble up every boulder she can find. Fancy that." Sending a conspirational grin toward Alfred he continued, changing the topic without even missing a beat. "So you told me that Bruce has always been ahead of his class?"

Alfred blinked in surprise but played along. "Yes, until recently, at least. His teachers even suggested that he be tested and maybe be allowed to skip a grade, but Mr. and Mrs. Wayne hadn't decided yet when…" His voice trailed off. A noise came from the direction of the hallway. Alfred followed Mr. Brooke's example and went on as if he hadn't heard. "His intelligence is definitely above average, so I'm not worried about his ability to catch up with the rest of this year's curriculum."

Alfred couldn't quite hide his pride in his charge shining through in his words. The younger man only smiled at him and nodded in understanding.

"I see," Mr. Brooke said. "Maybe I could take a look at his school work? It would help me a lot to see what and especially how Bruce has learned until now if I want to develop my own course of instruction for him."

Alfred rose. "Of course. I will show you to his room."

Mr. Brooke followed his example and stood slowly, but then he turned toward the door without leaving his place next to the table. "Maybe Bruce could show me." He paused and raised his voice a little. "Would you, Bruce?"

At first, nothing happened, but after a few silent seconds, the eavesdropper appeared in the doorway, a mixture of anger and curiosity on his face. His whole posture screamed that he wasn't sure whether he should run again or endure Mr. Brooke's presence. To Alfred's surprise, the boy stayed close to the door-jamb where he'd been hiding and addressed the teacher directly.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked suspiciously.

Mr. Brooke regarded him carefully and replied, "You really need to work on your stealth." There was nothing but honesty and respect in his demeanor.

Alfred was glad to see that he didn't make the mistake of trying to talk to Master Bruce as if he were merely a troublesome child who needed a strong hand – which he was, in a way – but treated him as an equal who deserved an honest and serious approach.

Bruce thought about that for a moment and finally nodded. "I will."

To Alfred's surprise there was a hint of steely resoluteness and earnestness in Bruce's voice which meant that he would do exactly as he'd said. Master Bruce didn't like things half-done.

Mr. Brooke nodded as if it were a promise he'd expected. "Okay. And I think you already know, but my name is Willian Brooke."

Bruce didn't reply.

"Now that we've finally met, would you like to show me your school books, please? Mr. Pennyworth tells me you're a really good student."

Alfred cringed inwardly because Mr. Brooke's reply sounded too much like something any new tutor would say to his pupil, trying to take him or her in, but it was true, of course. Master Bruce had been a really good student once, before his grades started dropping.

Bruce looked back and forth between them, and Alfred held his breath. You never knew what Master Bruce's reaction would be these days; but he'd stayed and even asked a question of his own accord which showed that there was still hope for this to work.

The child fixed his unsettling gaze on Mr. Brooke, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he asked the question Alfred had hoped he wouldn't until they'd had a chance to talk about this again. The boy was definitely too smart for his age.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, not giving up his position in the doorway.

"There are several reasons why I'm here, Bruce," Mr. Brooke replied calmly. Obviously, it wasn't the first time he had to endure such a weird kind of job interview in his life – by a child, no less. "Mr. Pennyworth asked me to become your tutor. He told me that you needed someone to teach you at home, and since I am a teacher, I said yes."

Bruce's gaze never wavered, and Mr. Brooke continued, ignoring the silent stare that had intimated a lot of people over the past few months.

"Secondly, I needed a job. I have a family, you know. My wife looks after our children at home, and I'm the one who goes to work every day. I work at the school your friend Rachel goes to..." – Bruce didn't even twitch this time – "...but it is only a temporary assignment which ends next week."

He paused for breath, and Master Bruce interrupted him before the teacher could give another reason. "I don't want your pity," the child hissed, the anger coming seemingly out of nowhere.

Alfred started to intervene, but Mr. Brooke held him back with an upraised hand. "Is that why you think I'm here? That I feel sorry for you and want to 'make everything better'?" He painted quotation marks into the air when he said that last part, making it clear that he wasn't too fond of the idea either. "I'm not a psychologist, Bruce. I studied some educational psychology, yes, but I'm not here to force you to do anything you don't want to or to make you to talk about what happened – unless you want to, of course."

Alfred thought it highly unlikely that this would happen any time soon but decided to keep quiet in order not to disturb the battle of wills playing out in front of him.

"I care about all my pupils," Mr. Brooke conceded as if he hadn't noticed the unbelieving gaze coming from the doorway. "I love to teach, and I want to help my students learn and discover things. But I'm not a shrink."

He paused and met Master Bruce's eye. "Do you think you can accept that?"

The child mulled this over in silence, and Alfred could almost see the thoughts chasing each other in his head which was already filled with too many dark memories and thoughts. What would he decide?

Alfred had promised not to force him, and he intended to keep his word – but his instincts told him that Mr. Brooke was the right man for his young charge right now. He really hoped he hadn't been wrong.

At long last, Bruce broke his disconcerting stare and nodded once. "I believe you." And with that, he turned around and started toward his room on the upper level, not waiting for them to follow. Mr. Brooke looked at Alfred questioningly who smiled and gestured for him to go on. "I think he's accepted you."

With a new spring in his step, Alfred followed the retreating back of his small master and their new tutor up the stairs. Unorthodox introductions aside, this meeting couldn't have gone better.

Mrs. Simmons would be pleased.


End file.
